


Recruiting and Retention

by ereshai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Bar Fight, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drunkenness, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sexual Harassment, Soldier Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton goes into a bar and meets Franklin Clay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruiting and Retention

**Author's Note:**

> All sexual harassment and drunken behavior is performed by OCs. Those jerks.  
> Let's just pretend this is how the Army works, shall we?

Clint sat in the hotel bar, an almost empty bottle of beer in one hand. In his other hand, he held a business card. Occasionally, he would tap the edge of it on the polished wood of the countertop, or run this thumb over the embossed lettering on the front.

He put the card away and signaled the bartender for another beer. It was his first day of leave, but he already felt done for the night. It was barely twenty-one hundred hours, for fuck’s sake. Nine o’clock; maybe he should get used to talking like a civilian again – his commitment was almost up, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to re-up, especially considering the conversation he’d just had.

Someone sat down next to him and ordered a whiskey from the bartender who had brought Clint’s beer. Clint glanced over at him, and suppressed a sigh.

“Sir,” he said with a nod when the man looked over at him.

The man accepted his drink and took a sip. “Have we met?” he asked, turning to face Clint.

“No, sir, but I’ve seen you before.” If Clint hadn’t known that the man beside him was a superior officer, he wouldn’t have pegged him for a military man. He was dressed in civilian clothes, with stubble on his face that was way past five o’clock shadow.

“Colonel Franklin Clay.” He held out his hand, and Clint shook it briefly.

“Clint Barton.” He doubted it was a coincidence that the colonel was there. “Is my leave canceled again, sir?” Less than a day; it was a fucking record. They could have gotten their shit together and told him before he’d left base. Clint was beginning to think his CO was doing this on purpose; the guy didn’t like him.

“Not as far as I know. I’m not here in an official capacity.” With that, Clay spun around on his barstool until he was facing the rest of the room. He rested an elbow on the bar, and sipped his drink as he studied the other customers. It was pretty empty – there was a group of college guys doing shots in a corner booth, and a disgustingly cute couple holding hands and making eyes at each other at one of the tables.

“Why are you here?” He was starting not to care if he burned a few bridges; the Army kept jerking him around. First, those bullshit charges during Basic, which had eventually been proven false, but not before he’d been convicted by word-of-mouth. Then, bouncing him from unit to unit; hard to be a team player when you don’t have enough time to get to know your team. Successfully completing Special Forces training hadn’t changed anything – he was still catching shit over nothing.

Clay didn’t answer. His eyes were on the frat boys in the corner. A couple of them had gotten up, and they were approaching the couple at the table. The two women didn’t notice them at first, and their smiles dimmed when the two men started talking to them. Clint couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the women were clearly becoming more and more uncomfortable.

Clint hopped off his stool; Clay drained his glass and did the same. As they approached, Clint heard one of the frat boys say, “C’mon, we’re nice guys, I swear. It’ll be fun.”

“No, thank you,” one of the women said firmly.

“Ladies,” Clay said pleasantly as he came to a stop next to the table. His eyes flicked over the two college kids. “Boys.”

Clint took up a position on the other side of the table, directly opposite of Clay, and turned to face the two. He was closest to the kid who had been doing the talking, and he smiled when the kid squinted at him.

“What’s up, dudes?” the kid said, and swayed a little as he looked between them.

Clay ignored him. “Anything we can help you with tonight?” he asked the women.

“I think we should go,” one woman whispered to the other.

The other woman, the one who had declined the college boy’s ‘invitation’, shook her head. “We shouldn’t have to leave because of them.” She turned to Clay. “We appreciate your offer. If you could get the bartender, or hotel security? These two won’t take no for an answer.”

“What? No, we just want to party. You two are smokin’.”

Clay grinned, shark-like, and the boys blinked and shuffled nervously, but they didn’t leave. Clint would have, but he wasn’t drunk off his ass. The kid who hadn’t spoken had seriously glassy eyes, and Clint wasn’t even sure he knew what was going on.

“Interrupting their date is kind of a dick move, guys,” Clint said. He tried to talk to them like he would to some of the guys he went through Basic with; they were about the same age, and they were doing the same kind of stupid shit. Although, when he’d tried it during Basic, it hadn’t ended well.

“Date?” The quiet kid spoke up this time, in an overly loud voice. “Date? You’re, like, lesbians?” He sounded more puzzled than angry, but Clint got ready for trouble.

“What a waste of a couple of hot chicks,” the other kid said, equally as loud.

“Go back to your table while you still can, boys,” Clay said. He was using his command voice, guaranteed to cut through any enlisted soldier’s drunken haze.

Command voice didn’t work on drunk college kids. The quiet one focused on the women. “Can we watch?”

“Excuse me?” both women said at once, their faces red.

Clay’s smile dropped off his face, and he grabbed the kid’s shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him back toward the booth where his friends were sitting.

“Hey!” The other kid stumbled toward Clay. Clint stepped in front of him, and the kid took a swing at him. Clint grabbed his arm, twisting him around into a hammerlock, and held him in place with an arm across his chest. Clay had the other kid bent over an empty table in an arm bar. The rest of the frat boys were watching, wide-eyed and silent.

“Sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Ma’am,” Clay said, nodding at each woman in turn.

The bartender hurried over. By some miracle, Clint and Clay weren’t thrown out along with the college kids; Clay did some fast talking there. The two women continued their date, and Clint and Clay returned to their spots at the bar.

“Thanks for backing me up,” Clay said after ordering another drink.

Clint shrugged. He’d been going to step in on his own; if Clay wanted to see it as backup, whatever. It wasn’t even a real fight.

“I hear you’re one of the best snipers in the Army.” Clay’s drink arrived, and he threw back half of it in one swallow.

Clint snorted. “No, I’m the best.”

“The best, then. It’s a short list, and you’re at the top. I’m putting together a team, and I could use a man with your skills.”

“Just like that?” It was never that easy; his CO had been trying to transfer him to another unit for months.

“It could be a condition of your re-enlistment. I know that’s coming up.”

“And what kind of missions would we be running?” He took a swig of his beer; it was warm and tasted like piss. He set it aside.

“You’ll be read in if you decide to join up.”

Black ops, then. He was suddenly very tired. “No, thanks. Someone’s already made me a better offer. Try Alvarez, or Wilson. They’re good.”

He expected Clay to push it, but the man just nodded and offered his hand. “I’m sorry to lose you. Good luck.”

Clay paid for his drinks and left. Clint didn’t bother to watch him go. He pulled the card out of his pocket. His mind was made up. Maybe this would turn out to be just like running covert ops for the CIA, but he was willing to take the chance that it wouldn't.

Clint took out his phone and dialed the number on the card. “Agent Coulson,” he said when the person on the other end picked up. “This is Clint Barton. Sign me up; I’m joining SHIELD.”


End file.
